Review: Paranoid Park

"Paranoid Park" (IMDb listing) confirms that Gus Van Sant is so far up his own
artistic anus, it's impossible to take anything he makes seriously
anymore.

Alex (Gabe Nevins) is a teenage skate rat who lives his life in a fog.
When the cops come rolling into his school looking for clues to catch
the murderer of a railway security guard, Alex is evasive, troubled by
events that are unclear. Retracing his night at the seedy Paranoid
Park skate spot, Alex looks to articulate his life dealing with
high-maintenance girlfriends, the high cost of Subway sandwiches, and
a vague sense of guilt that almost reads as insomnia.

"Paranoid" is Van Sant's fourth straight feature film to employ a
Euro-speckled non-linear, minimalist format, following the characters
blindly instead of prodding them for dramatic response. Much like
"Gerry," "Elephant," and "Last Days," "Paranoid" is a love it or leave
it experience: either there's a immediate connection with Van Sant's
workmanlike art-house pandering or the movie is 75 minutes of idle
torture, demonstrating that a once-great director has become a parody
of himself.

For reasons I will try to keep short enough for publication, I loathed
this idiotic mash note to skateboarders and fluttery teen
introspection. My full apologies to "Juno," for I would've given my
left arm for someone to inject a spoonful of Diablo Cody's verbal
narcissism into this morose, limp, aggravatingly distanced affair.
Reportedly based on the novel by Blake Nelson, Van Sant has taken an
allegedly beloved creation of teen turmoil and turned it into a
sluggish home run derby of inarticulation and numbskull acting. My
God, this film is so senseless it makes "Meet the Spartans" look like
the "McLaughlin Group."

The argument for mesmerizing cinema typically falls toward Van Sant's
patience with time and observance of nuance. He doesn't direct
anymore, he allows. Hire fantastic actors like Matt Damon and Casey
Affleck, and I'll buy it, simply because these guys have experience.
"Paranoid" is cast with amateurs who know nothing about cinematic
language. The acting aims to evoke realism, but these kids are still
aching to put on a show; especially blank-slate Nevins, who
gracelessly reads his dialogue off cocktail napkins and is caught
trying to pose himself for the camera. It's nauseating watching Van
Sant push this kid to be the center of conflict for the movie; an
open-wound pimple-popper the narrative is structured around, yet he
fails to engage the senses on any conceivable level outside of
contempt. I'm baffled why Van Sant didn't just cast a mime instead.

Like the previous films, the iffy cinematography (by giant Christopher
Doyle and Rain Kathy Li) sweats to capture the substance of moments;
the complication of simplicity. Unfortunately, this means sitting
through minutes-long takes of Alex walking around his high school,
staring off into the distance, hearing his little brother quote
"Napoleon Dynamite," and more staring off into the distance. That's
not including the numerous moments of orchestral zoning out, where the
frame wanders while music blares, as though Van Sant is padding the
picture to semi-releasable standards. This is a crisp, white hanky
doused with cinematic chloroform pressed tightly across the face.

There are people who will fall on the Van Sant sword to defend his
articulation of vacancy. At this point, I'd rather Van Sant fall on
it, to spare the planet another lube-heavy, navel-gazing foray into
the pretentious void.

\"Paranoid Park\" (IMDb listing) confirms that Gus Van Sant is so far up his own\nartistic anus, it's impossible to take anything he makes seriously\nanymore.\n\n

\n\nAlex (Gabe Nevins) is a teenage skate rat who lives his life in a fog.\nWhen the cops come rolling into his school looking for clues to catch\nthe murderer of a railway security guard, Alex is evasive, troubled by\nevents that are unclear. Retracing his night at the seedy Paranoid\nPark skate spot, Alex looks to articulate his life dealing with\nhigh-maintenance girlfriends, the high cost of Subway sandwiches, and\na vague sense of guilt that almost reads as insomnia.\n\n

\n\n\"Paranoid\" is Van Sant's fourth straight feature film to employ a\nEuro-speckled non-linear, minimalist format, following the characters\nblindly instead of prodding them for dramatic response. Much like\n\"Gerry,\" \"Elephant,\" and \"Last Days,\" \"Paranoid\" is a love it or leave\nit experience: either there's a immediate connection with Van Sant's\nworkmanlike art-house pandering or the movie is 75 minutes of idle\ntorture, demonstrating that a once-great director has become a parody\nof himself.\n\n

\n\nFor reasons I will try to keep short enough for publication, I loathed\nthis idiotic mash note to skateboarders and fluttery teen\nintrospection. My full apologies to \"Juno,\" for I would've given my\nleft arm for someone to inject a spoonful of Diablo Cody's verbal\nnarcissism into this morose, limp, aggravatingly distanced affair.\nReportedly based on the novel by Blake Nelson, Van Sant has taken an\nallegedly beloved creation of teen turmoil and turned it into a\nsluggish home run derby of inarticulation and numbskull acting. My\nGod, this film is so senseless it makes \"Meet the Spartans\" look like\nthe \"McLaughlin Group.\"\n\n

\n\nThe argument for mesmerizing cinema typically falls toward Van Sant's\npatience with time and observance of nuance. He doesn't direct\nanymore, he allows. Hire fantastic actors like Matt Damon and Casey\nAffleck, and I'll buy it, simply because these guys have experience.\n\"Paranoid\" is cast with amateurs who know nothing about cinematic\nlanguage. The acting aims to evoke realism, but these kids are still\naching to put on a show; especially blank-slate Nevins, who\ngracelessly reads his dialogue off cocktail napkins and is caught\ntrying to pose himself for the camera. It's nauseating watching Van\nSant push this kid to be the center of conflict for the movie; an\nopen-wound pimple-popper the narrative is structured around, yet he\nfails to engage the senses on any conceivable level outside of\ncontempt. I'm baffled why Van Sant didn't just cast a mime instead.\n\n

\n\nLike the previous films, the iffy cinematography (by giant Christopher\nDoyle and Rain Kathy Li) sweats to capture the substance of moments;\nthe complication of simplicity. Unfortunately, this means sitting\nthrough minutes-long takes of Alex walking around his high school,\nstaring off into the distance, hearing his little brother quote\n\"Napoleon Dynamite,\" and more staring off into the distance. That's\nnot including the numerous moments of orchestral zoning out, where the\nframe wanders while music blares, as though Van Sant is padding the\npicture to semi-releasable standards. This is a crisp, white hanky\ndoused with cinematic chloroform pressed tightly across the face.\n

\n There are people who will fall on the Van Sant sword to defend his\narticulation of vacancy. At this point, I'd rather Van Sant fall on\nit, to spare the planet another lube-heavy, navel-gazing foray into\nthe pretentious void.